When Owl had assembled all the meat he thought he could conveniently carry, he stripped out the sewing sinew from alongside the backbone. This white glistening band of fibrous tissue would be needed as he attempted to fashion his garments for winter. He tossed it and the various small articles he carried into the skin, and bundled the four legs together to make a pack. He swung it to his shoulder and rapidly left the scene.
The pack was heavy, but no heavier than an ore sack, and far softer. Owl was on top of the world as he jogged along, his deliberate pace putting distance behind him. Occasionally he glanced back to make sure he was not followed. If he could find an acceptable area for his camp and his fire, he could forget about the threat of the great cat. They were known to avoid fire.
Odd, he thought. He had hardly dared build a fire for fear of the Hairfaces. Now he hardly dared do without one for fear of the real-cat.
When he did stop, it was with plenty of daylight left. He could not search in the dark for firewood tonight. His first move was to lay in a good supply. He had selected a sheltered area near a flowing stream, with plenty of wood close at hand. A grassy meadow stretched before him, and an abrupt cliff behind. It seemed an ideally defensible position. This was good, for he expected to spend several days here. There was meat to cure, and the skin to process.
Again his experience in the women’s work of the Head Splitters was helpful. The first night he had the shelter of the fresh elk skin, turned hair side toward him, but this was only a temporary expedient. Next day he began his work in earnest.
All day he worked. He cut meat in slender strips and draped them to dry over a rack of willow sticks. At every opportunity, however, he worked with the elk skin. He scraped fat and loose tissue from the inner surface. He selected a sapling near his camp and bent it over to form a rail for working on the hide. He would pull, scrape, and work the stiffening hide intermittently, while he performed other camp tasks.
Badly needed were moccasins. His feet had become toughened, but were now sore from traveling over rocks. And he would surely need protection for his feet in the winter. He remembered a method told him by White Buffalo. It would produce not the well-designed plains moccasin of the People, but an acceptable substitute.
With this in mind, he had skinned out the hock section of each hind leg separately. He had cut the skin in a circle around the thigh, and without splitting it, had inverted it toward the foot, detaching it above the ankle. Now he examined the two sleeves he had created, still with the flesh side out. On one side of each was a well-defined bulge, formed by the protruding hock of the animal. Owl held one of the skins against his foot. Yes, it was as White Buffalo had said. The bulging portion of the hock would fit his own heel almost perfectly. He slipped the skin over his foot experimentally, hair side still in. It was necessary, he found, to slit the portion above his own ankle. This could be fastened with thongs. The loose skin beyond his toes he gathered and tied like the mouth of a bag, leaving plenty of room for shrinkage. This extra space, he believed, could also be stuffed with dried grass or fur for warmth when Cold Maker really struck.
He rose and walked around, feeling clumsy in his new footwear, but realizing the great protection they would offer. Now he must wear the moccasins most of the time while the skin dried, to preserve the shape.
A magpie sailed across the clearing and alighted on his meat-drying rack to peck at the strips. Owl waved his arms to scare the bird away. This promised to become a real problem. The gaudy black and white birds seemed without fear. They and the smaller jays of various sorts seemed determined to rob him of all his labors. He found that it was best to do most of his work with the skins while sitting almost within arm’s length of the drying meat.
Once, striking out with a stick, he landed a lucky blow and knocked a magpie fluttering to the ground. Very much aware of all possibilities for food, Owl methodically plucked the bird. It was smaller than it looked with the feathers on, but formed a quite acceptable addition to his food supply. He propped it on a stick over the fire.
As he carefully nibbled the last shreds of meat from the bones, Owl was developing a general plan for his sustenance. He would avoid entirely the use of any of the elk meat as long as possible. It would be stored for the Moon of Snows and the Moon of Hunger. He thought that he could manage to obtain enough small creatures for his daily needs. Squirrels, porcupines, birds, had all proved useful already. Even the small striped squirrels like the one flitting among the rocks might help sustain him if necessary.
He was not likely to be so fortunate as to share a real-cat’s kill very often, but that was a possibility. And, he should be able to make his own deer kill occasionally. He did need more skins before really cold weather.
Owl rolled over to expose a new portion of his body to the warmth of the fire, and drew the elk skin around him. He was pleased with his progress. He had come in contact with elements of nature completely foreign to his prairie culture, and had so far managed to adapt. White Buffalo would be proud of him. He looked forward to telling the old man of all the things he had seen and done. There were wondrous things to be learned beyond the land of the People.
He thought of Willow. She, too, would be proud. He longed to share with her the triumph of his escape, and of his lessons in survival among strange surroundings. She would be amused, he knew, at his story of robbing the real-cat’s kill. She would laugh at his strange-looking moccasins.
Sleep came slowly. The girl’s memory troubled his mind. She had been so vibrant, so radiantly alive, that his mind refused to accept her loss.
Even the reassuring call of a coyote from the ridge seemed at odds with reality.
18
Again Owl was wakened in the night by soft rustling noises, this time from the meadow. The moon had risen, and by its light he could detect motion in the grass. The creatures seemed small, and he laid aside his spear to pick up the throwing sticks.
Crouching, he made his way toward the grassy clearing, keeping to the shadows. To his surprise, the meadow seemed alive with scampering forms. Rabbits! He congratulated himself on accidentally locating his camp almost on top of the rabbits’ meeting place. He knew of such areas, with a level open space to run and play, and adequate food supply for the creatures. There were at least as many hopping forms as one has fingers.
Another hunter shared interest in the rabbits’ council. From a dead pine came the hunting call of a great owl. Instantly every rabbit froze in position. Owl used the moment of inaction to move quietly to better location. By using the owl’s hollow cry to distract the animals, he could benefit in improved hunting. The long-ears started to move cautiously again. To his surprise, one began feeding only a few paces in front of him. The stick whirled, and a fluffy rabbit lay kicking in the grass.
He flitted forward, administered another blow, and glanced quickly around for new quarry. It was several moments before he spotted his prey, another fat long-ear contentedly nibbling a blade of the lush grass. The stick whirled again. This time the blow was not so sure. The stricken rabbit threshed around in the grass, squealing in distress. All the other animals fled into the woods or among the rocks. Owl sprang forward to prevent the escape of his prey.
Just as he was almost ready to reach forward and grasp the kicking animal, a shadow flitted across his path. On silent wings, the great owl swooped softly in front of him and snatched the rabbit. It was gone almost before the bird’s human namesake realized what was occurring.
Owl was furious for a moment, then became amused. The game belonged to one hunter no more than another. Had he not done the same with the kill of the real-cat? After all, it was with the help of the great owl that he had secured the first rabbit. He picked up his throwing stick and hurried back to claim that kill. He turned and waved to the silhouette in the dead pine, elongated by the rabbit carcass dangling below.
“Thank you, my brother,” he called, with a laugh.
The rabbit was large and fluffy, and of a kind not familiar to him.
In the prairies and woods of his home, there were two long-ears. There was the large, tough and bony animal with a black tail, and the smaller, softer, white-tailed rabbit, much better for eating.
This rabbit was neither. It was heavy and meaty, and when daylight came, Owl could see that it was strangely mottled with white patches among the brown.
Each night thereafter, when the moon rose, Owl and his feathered counterpart shared the hunt. Some nights were totally unproductive, some produced a meal for the day. On one memorable night, he secured two fat rabbits in addition to one seized by his silent-winged hunting companion.
One other maneuver he learned during this period. He could imitate the call of the hunting owl to perfection. This sound could freeze all motion on the part of the long-ears, and enable him to maneuver for better position.
Finally came the night when he decided the meadow was hunted out. The great owl had already moved on to better hunting. The remaining long-ears had become so wary that at the slightest movement in the shadows they vanished. Besides, the waning moon no longer lighted the meadow satisfactorily for hunting.
Owl had begun to construct a robe from the rabbit fur. The skins had no strength, but much warmth. Clumsily and painstakingly he stitched the skins together with sinew. He had fashioned an awl from a rabbit bone, honed to a fine point on a stone. Already his furry cape was large enough to throw across his shoulders, and it became larger with each rabbit kill. Scraps of fur he stuffed into his moccasins.
When Owl left the Place of Rabbits to move on into the mountains he was much better equipped and provisioned. He had decided that there was to be no pursuit. Danger from enemies would be from a chance encounter. Therefore, if he watched carefully to observe any sign of human activity, he should find safety for the moons of the winter.
There remained the selection of a winter camp site. Owl was having a great deal of difficulty in relating his knowledge of needs for winter to this strange region. His experience was with skin lodges, erected at the south edge of a growth of timber, to shelter from the north blast of the Cold Maker.
His greatest problem was lack of knowledge of the area. He had no way of knowing how deep the snow, or how cold the nights would be.
It was to be assumed that lower areas would be more habitable. In the edge of the mountains, familiar to the People, it was realized that deer, elk, and the big-horned sheep came down from the taller peaks to winter in the lowlands. Owl’s search, then, was for a sheltered valley or canyon, inaccessible to casual travelers, with a water supply, game, and an exposure to the south.
At times he despaired of finding a wintering site with all these qualifications. One he rejected for lack of water. Another was too conspicuous to any passer-by. The best site he found was finally rejected with regret, after he realized there was no sign of game in the area. He continued to travel in the generally northeast direction.
He almost decided to travel as rapidly as possible out of the mountains, hoping to find a tribe of friendly Growers with whom he could winter. This plan he finally rejected, also. He could not risk being caught in the open by Cold Maker, or blundering into a band of Head Splitters by mistake.
Owl was beginning to feel depressed, even desperate. His earlier confidence was hard to maintain through the chill of the lengthening nights. Maybe, he was forced to consider, there was good reason why the Hairfaces shunned the mountains in winter.
There had still been no winter storm. Several times dark clouds had gathered over the peaks of the high ranges to the west, but then dissipated. If at any time one of these threatening situations materialized, Owl would be in a very vulnerable position.
He remembered once, long ago, seeing an aging buffalo bull circled by wolves. The animals were patient, and there was no doubt about the eventual outcome. The bull could fend off the nipping, feinting attacks for a day or two, but eventually he would go down.
Tonight, in the depths of depression, Owl began to feel like the tired old bull. So far he had been successful in his bid for survival, but for how long? Tired, hungry, thirsty, and cold, as he built his fire, he really began to doubt himself. Perhaps captivity would be preferable to the end that seemed likely. He was proud of his bid for freedom, but what good had all his effort been if the end result was the same? Would he, like the buffalo bull, go down when Cold Maker, now only nipping at his heels, unleashed the final onslaught?
He chewed a little of his precious dried meat and rolled into his makeshift skins for the night, still cold and thirsty.
19
It was some time during the night that Owl’s medicine coyote came to him in a dream. He had been restlessly tossing, the transparent visions shimmering and fading like mirages in the prairie sun. He saw again the miseries of captivity, the escape from the Head Splitters, the recapture, and the death of Willow. Then, she was still there, smiling sadly and sympathetically as he sweated under the ore sacks. Her gentle yet determined face encouraged him, as her memory always did. Again, she vanished, to be replaced by the cruel leer of El Gato. The overseer, too, now disappeared in a flash of fire from the smoke-log, and Owl was running, climbing, lungs bursting. Then he was tired, cold, and hungry, and sank down in despair to rest.
Just at this time in his vision, when depression was overwhelming, a coyote trotted into his dream. The animal approached and sat on its haunches near him, looking directly into his face. Owl recognized his medicine beast.
“Do not despair, my son,” came the soft chortling voice. Owl looked at the coyote dully, without spirit.
“The answer is very near,” continued the gentle chuckle.
Even in his dream state, Owl was irritated. He had given the escape his best effort, and now felt the weight of failure falling heavy on his shoulders. Worse, even, was the diminishing likelihood of his survival. And here was the completely inappropriate advice of the mystical dream coyote.
“Very close by,” continued the voice. “You have only to think and look. I will be with you, my son.”
The expression on the face of the dream beast was so compassionate that it was impossible to remain frustrated. Owl felt a warm, comfortable emotion spread over him, and he was reassured. He reached out a hand to touch the coyote, to retain the sense of closeness, and the animal vanished instantly. His hand came in contact with the smooth stone against which he camped. He was alone in the night beside the embers of his fire. One cannot touch a medicine animal.
Still, the feeling of close comfort persisted. Owl remained wide awake, his senses alert. He took small sticks and fanned the embers to blaze again, all the while pondering the meaning of the vision. The rest of the night was spent in meditation, sitting over the tiny fire with his rabbit fur robe wrapped around his shoulders.
He was puzzled about the cryptic message, “The answer is very near.” Was this to indicate nearness to this place, or in the nearness of time? Owl was inclined to believe that both might be implied. At any rate, it could do no harm to remain here in waiting for a short while.
In addition, he was comfortable here. There was a peaceful lack of urgency in the place, and it was pleasant to be here. This was in direct contrast to his feeling for the place as he made camp the night before. It was strange how the message in his vision had changed his attitude. Where he had previously been anxious, depressed, and impatient, he was now relaxed and expectant.
Most of the day Owl spent near his fire, and mostly in thought. Activity did not, at this time, appear productive. Sun Boy carried his torch in its slow arc across the southern sky, and Owl was content to sit and appreciate its warmth.
There was still the quality of expectant waiting, and toward the end of the day, Owl began to wonder if he had misunderstood his vision. After all, the coyote had said, “think and look.” Perhaps he was not being aggressive enough. He wandered around the immediate area, poking and investigating, but found nothing. It would help, he thought with a bit of irritation, if he had some idea what he was seeking. He returned to his fire, an
d realized he must have more wood for the coming night.
Owl had made several trips to his camp with armloads of sticks when he noticed a scraggly dead pine nearby. It had grown from a crevice at the back of the rock against which he camped. The tree was no taller than his shoulder. It had managed to survive in a tortuous location on the exposed face of the rock for a few years, but had now succumbed. It would be ideal fuel, Owl thought, as he broke the dried branches and piled them in the crook of his arm.
The tree had clung tightly against the rock face, and he noticed that when he pulled the twigs away, there were marks remaining on the smooth surface of the stone.
Suddenly he took a step back for a better look. The scratches just exposed had not been made by the tree, he now realized. They had been put there by a human hand. Hurriedly, in the waning light, he pulled branches and the collected debris of the years away from the rock.
There were three of the figures, human figures of varying sizes. The largest was only half the height of a man, while the smallest was little more than a hand’s span. They reminded Owl of the figures on the Story Skins far away in the lodge of White Buffalo.
He attempted to decipher meaning from these pictures. At first he thought this might represent a family unit, a warrior, his wife, and a child. Yet all three carried spears, so he decided they must be warriors with varying degrees of prestige. But why were they here?
It was almost fully dark now, and he lighted a torch to continue his examination. He also looked at the other accessible faces of the great boulder, but found no markings of any sort. He returned to the fire, though he knew there would be little sleep tonight.
Buffalo Medicine Page 9